


The Archives

by Yrindor



Series: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics 2017 Fills [5]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Gen, Inspired by La Sombra del Viento, Libraries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 18:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13129851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yrindor/pseuds/Yrindor
Summary: Oshitari has heard whispers of the secrets lurking behind the shelves of his old library, but he thinks nothing of them until Fuji appears at his desk with arms full of books he's never seen and a smile on his face. From then on, his life is never the same.





	The Archives

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 1: Alternate Universe. The prompt was the scenario in the summary.

Oshitari is no stranger to the Archives. He's lived here for almost as long as he can remember, ever since the year the plague wiped out most of his village and the silver-haired man in formal robes had taken him from the orphanage to his new home. Oshitari has only seen his patron occasionally in the years since, but he's come to know the Archives even better than he knows himself.

Or so he thinks until the day a stranger appears at his desk with a stack of books in varying states of repair.

"These are for you," the stranger says, and Oshitari is confused. The Archive is locked; researchers never set foot beyond the Reading Room, and even most of the staff are barred from the depths of the stacks where he works. He thought he knew all of the other staff in the back rooms, but he's never seen this face before; brown hair frames the stranger's face under his hood, and his eyes are closed as he speaks. The newcomer isn't wearing the rust-red robes of an apprentice either; he's wearing the grey of an Archivist, but the style is one Oshitari recognizes only from books. It's at least a century out of date, but the stranger doesn't look nearly old enough for that.

"I don't understand," Oshitari says.

"These are for you," the stranger repeats, setting the books down on Oshitari's desk.

Oshitari looks at the titles. "I don't understand," he says again, but for a different reason this time. "I've never heard of any of these before." It's a sentence that feels wrong even as he says it. He hasn't read all of them, but after a lifetime spent among them, he recognizes most of the volumes in the labyrinth of shelves behind the Archives' walls. To see one book he doesn't know is unusual enough; an entire armful is unheard of.

"Of course you haven't," the stranger says with a smile that's as unnerving as it is gentle. "They're Lost Books. The old Curator has passed away, and the collection has passed to you."

"Lost Books?" Oshitari asks. He's certain he's misheard. He's heard the phrase murmured among the oldest staff in whispers that fall silent as he passes, but he's always written it off as rumor and flights of fancy.

Sometimes, when he's alone in the depths of the stacks late at night, he swears the books whisper about it too in a quiet rustle of paper. It's harder to ignore those whispers, but he's always forced himself not to follow them too far. The notice by the stacks entrance warning against wandering too deep or straying from the task at hand isn't just for show; he's running out of fingers to count the Archivists who have disappeared or been found dead in the stacks after losing their way.

But the whispers have followed Oshitari since the day he first set foot in the Archives, slowly growing louder as they tell of a collection that, if it exists, is as much rumor as reality.

The stranger pushes the stack of books closer to him. "Yes. The Lost Books. When the time comes that only a single copy of a book remains, and it is about to be forgotten, it comes to us, and we add it to our collection. These came to us last night after the old Curator passed on."

"Where is this collection?" Oshitari asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Come, and I'll show you," the stranger says. He leads Oshitari through the stacks, past gaps between shelves and through doorways Oshitari swears he's never seen before. As they walk, the books around them stir, pages fluttering with more chatter than Oshitari has ever heard from them before. Even the ancient, tired books bound in heavy leather and wood that Oshitari has never heard before whisper a low greeting, the chains holding them to the shelves clinking softly as they pass. Over the rustle of the pages, only a single set of footsteps echoes off of the stone walls.

Finally, the stacks open up, and Oshitari finds himself standing in front of a windowless room deep in the stacks, shelves stretching out from it farther than the eye can see in all directions.

The stranger presses his hand to the heavy metal door set in the wall, and the air seems to shimmer for a moment before the latch clicks and the door swings open. He turns back and his eyes are open for the first time. Oshitari nearly loses himself in the piercing blue.

"Welcome," the stranger says in a voice that's no longer human, "to the heart of the Archives."

**Author's Note:**

> Strongly inspired by Carlos Ruiz Zafón's _La Sombra del Viento_ , which remains one of my favorite books.


End file.
